


Thicker than Water, Darker than Blood

by Lacrymosa_91



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood, Blood and Injury, Brothers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gecko Brothers, Geckocest, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, Injury, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-21 03:21:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4813022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacrymosa_91/pseuds/Lacrymosa_91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"His hand gives a short squeeze to Richie’s and his brother’s delicate fingers tighten around his in response. It feels like a promise, it feels solid and real and safe. It feels like having back something he has lost, something that has been denied to him for five years. "</p><p>The one in which Richie nearly dies and it shakes Seth in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everybody! :) 
> 
> First story for this fandom and first story for this pairing. I started watching the series our of curiosity and somehow these boys wormed their way into my heart. I haven't written in ages but the Gecko Brothers would not give me peace so I decided to give it a try. 
> 
> This was planned originally as a one shot but I can see it extending further and have even started on the next part. For the moment it is all still unclear to me and it keeps shifting but I will just let the boys show me where they want to go. 
> 
> Last but not least. I do not presume to know the characters deep enough in order to avoid minor OOC -ness. I am quite new to this fandom and this is just my take on the beautiful, fascinating Gecko Brothers, their relationship and the way in which it evolves from brotherly to something thicker and darker. 
> 
> I am not a native speaker of English and even though I have studied the language in debt for years I do not feel as sure in my own abilities as I would like. The story is unbetad and edited only by me, so please excuse any mistakes you will find. 
> 
> Finally, thank you for stopping by and reading my story. Any comments and constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated. 
> 
> Thank you. :)

His hands are clenched so tight around the steering wheel that his knuckles are white, fingers growing numb with the pressure of it. The road unfolds before the car like a wide, endless ribbon and he has to force his eyes to stay trained forward, even when he can still feel tremors rippling in his shoulders, spreading like spider webs at the base of his spine.

It claws at the inside of his eyelids, jumping at him in garish flashes and dulled sounds and it makes him dizzy, almost sick to his stomach. His whole body feels tight, still coiled and wired on adrenaline and too little sleep, chaotic, repetitive thoughts and images swirling and swirling inside his head like murky water down a bottomless drain.

Jobs go wrong sometimes. It happens more often than not, more often than Seth would like.

Tucson. Takoma. And that one time at New Orleans.

Jobs go wrong and messy sometimes and no amount of planning, calculations and scheming can prevent things from going to hell once someone has decided to play hero or have gone hysterical out of panic.

When you plan a bank job your main focus falls on the safe, the security cameras, the escape route. But there is one more essential factor which fails to yield to any planning or preliminary preparation.

People.

People are unpredictable. In 99 percent of the cases people are the one hitch, the one unforeseen circumstance that can cause a job, which has been meticulously planned and prepared for months to go to shit for mere seconds.

Seth is used to having to improvise. He has an uncanny talent for it. He can work well under pressure, and when things get hot, Richie always makes sure they have a contingency plan. They always have a plan B and C and D and the whole alphabet if it means that Seth and his brother are getting out of it alive and whole.

This time was different. This time it was almost going to be fatal.

Seth is still shaken by it.

To the core.

He cannot rein in his emotions and the residual panic and terror still linger, leave a sour taste in his mouth and a hollow chill in his stomach.

It is their first job after his brother broke him out of prison. It is also their first job which Richie has not patiently researched and carefully planned.

_Just because I live in the woods doesn’t mean I cannot plan a job anymore. You should’ve let me plan this one._

Seth has no way of knowing whether things would have turned out differently, if Richie had been the one to do the thinking and the preparations for the hit and not Vanessa. He has no way of knowing, and it might be probably ludicrous, but it does not change the fact that it gnaws at him with animal ferocity, that voice at the back of his head telling him that he almost got his baby brother killed. Half an inch more to the left would have made all the difference and Richie would not be sitting in the passenger seat next to Seth now because of poor planning and sloppy performance.

For the last two hours his eyes seem to be more on Richie, than on the road. He cannot seem to drag his gaze away from his brother, even when he forces himself to keep his eyes forward, even when he decides to count the markings in the asphalt that merge into one another, slider under the car like yellow serpents. He loses count after fifty seven, because Richie shifts in his seat, drags one long leg against his chest and Seth’s eyes follow the motion of it, search for any signs of pain in his brother’s movements.

“How’s your shoulder?”

Richie is leaning heavily against the door of the car, cheek plastered against the glass. His glasses are askew. He looks pale, drained with exhaustion and the silence Seth gets in return only makes his nerves wind up tighter, brows knitting together.

Richie talks. All the time. About movies, about books and technical engineering and the rain forests in Amazonia and about that one picture of a tumor with teeth and hair he saw in that one science magazine when he was ten. Seth has trouble shutting him up most of the time. He talks when he is angry, when he is nervous or simply bored, babbles when he is excited. Seth has learned when he should listen carefully and Richie expects him to answer, and when only a nod and a grunt should be enough just because sometimes all his brother needs is to let it out. His brother likes to talk. It is something that is so innately Richie that Seth has accepted it, grown to appreciate it in his own strange way.

Richie has not spoken a single word for hours. He has not uttered a single word since they had driven out of town like the devil was on their heels.

Seth looks at his brother for a long moment, forgetting all about the car, all about the goddamn thirty million dollars in bonds lying on the backseat, all about keeping his eyes on the road when his foot feels like a dead weight on the gas pedal.

Richie has not budged to any attempt from Seth to start a conversation and has declined Seth’s offer to rest in the backseat, too. He looks so small curled against the door, so young with his chin resting on his bent knee that it makes something curl in Seth’s chest, burn under his sternum. He has the sudden urge to touch him, to feel him warm under his fingers and it only makes him grip at the steering wheel tighter, teeth seeking into the inside of his cheek.

“Richie-“

“It’s bearable.” Richie eventually whispers, and his voice sounds heavy, thick with exhaustion. He presses his fingers against the already soaked through makeshift bandaging, adjusts his shoulder with a hollow grunt. “It went clean through. It’s a flesh wound…it bleeds a little too much but I am not gonna die, Seth.”

“I know.” It comes out too quickly, hoarse and dry in the small space of the car. “I know, buddy.”

_I thought you were dead. Fucking dead. I thought I have lost you, Richie._

He doesn’t dare say it aloud, doesn’t want to make this even more unbearable than it already is. He doesn’t say it because letting the words out in the open air will make it even more real, will tie the ice knot lodged in his chest even tighter.

For a split second there, at the bank, Seth thought Richie was dead. Falling to his knees and watching the vermillion of his baby brother’s blood lick at the dirty linoleum floor, Seth thought Richie was dead.

It severed him in half. That split second of chaos and panic and utter terror broke him, lurched something inside him out of place, burned through him like acid.

It felt like the earth had fallen from under his feet.

It turned out a shot to the shoulder, going clean through, miraculously without shattering bones and hitting the wall behind. The second shot to Richie’s chest, the one which had been meant to kill him, caught the hilt of the knife he always kept in the breast pocket of his jacket of late. The shot had only knocked Richie unconscious for several endless minutes.

The longest several minutes in Seth’s life.

Seth didn’t know. Had no way of knowing back then.

He didn’t know the moment that panicked, barely human scream had torn out of his throat. He didn’t know when Richie looked at him with glassy eyes and mouthed his name. He didn’t know when his baby brother’s body crumbled to the floor with a dull thud, a puppet with its strings cut.

Seth emptied his gun in the cop’s chest. Every shot a sick, vicious revenge, bullet after bullet after bullet, never stopping even after the man fell against the wall, painting the dull beige wallpaper a crimson red. Then there was chaos, screams and shouts and gunfire and Richie. Richie lying on the floor, Richie not moving, Richie with his eyes closed and blood pooling under his head, soaking into his hair.

Seth shakes his head harshly, tries to push the image away but it only claws into him harder, burns behind his eyes, imprinted like a brand. Even now, almost a day later it still rattles him to the core, makes his heart squeeze and stutter inside his chest.

His hand reaches convulsively before he can stop himself and grabs at Richie’s hand on instinct, squeezes tightly, and he knows it must be painful even when Richie does not make a sound. It has been an urge building inside of him for hours, itching at the tips of his fingers, an impulsive push to touch, to feel Richie’s skin under his. Seth needs to reassure himself that Richie has not left him even when all his thoughts seem to be circling around is the garish image of his baby brother lying on that that dirty floor, inky eyelashes thick against his pale cheeks.

Richie is trembling against him, palm clammy, and he looks at Seth, lips falling apart, fingers nearly crushed in his brother’s fist. His eyes look so blue, so unbearably blue and somewhere inside of Seth something thick and hot seems to break, crumple like burning paper, sink heavy and strangely familiar in his gut even when he cannot begin to discern it. Seth cannot look away and he cannot let go of Richie’s hand either. Time loses meaning and all he can see, everything that seems to exist are those blue eyes staring back at him, so clear yet so unbearably deep that holding Richie’s gaze feels like going under, like drowning in shallow waters just in sight of shore.

Suddenly there is a screech of tires and Seth watches as Richie’s lips curl around a sound he does not hear but understands perfectly well.

He does not need to hear his name in order to recognize the sound on his brother’s lips. Seth is able to discern the way Richie’s mouth shapes the single syllable from across a football field because it has been Richie’s first word. Not momma, not daddy but _Seth_ and it is the very first childhood memory Seth himself has because even before any of them knew their parents, even before they could stay or walk steady on their feet, they knew each other. Richie knew him and Seth knew Richie.

Richie’s hand is no longer in his and Seth’s fingers twitch convulsively. His brother is leaning forward with a jerky movement, pulling at the steering wheel with both hands.

“-eth-!” He hears, torn up and garbled and as if coming from far away and then “The fuck are you doing?”

They swerve to the right, out of the road, barely avoiding a heavy freight truck, the driver swearing and honking madly as he thunders by. The car makes an agonizing shriek as Seth’s foot finally falls off the gas and kicks at the breaks.

There is a thick cloud of dust rising around the car, gradually starting to settle as they both stay pale and rigid in their seats, chests rising with heavy pants. Seth can feel his heart in his throat, hammering under his tongue and his first instinct is to check his brother for any injuries even when he realizes there is no actual reason for Richie to be hurt. They have not been hit.

Seth watches him carefully, sees him lean against the door again and rub at his face with both hands. He has the sudden urge to pull him closer, to drag the pads of his fingers against the back of his neck, to sooth him even when deep down he knows that Richie is not the one who needs to be reassured. Seth’s hands are shaking and he clenches them into fists in desperate attempt to still the tremors crawling up his fingers, nails biting into the soft flesh of his palms.

“Fucking hell!”

Seth slams his head back against the headrest, growls through clenched teeth, bangs his fists against the steering wheel.

“Shit! Shit-shit!”

Richie watches him silently from behind his glasses. He is quiet, the only visible sign of commotion is his still rapidly heaving chest. He is waiting, patiently watching until Seth’s anger gutters out, until his brother’s breathing evens out and his fists unclench. Neither of them knows how much time passes, and neither of them speaks a word.

This silence is different though, pregnant with something thicker than guilt or fear, something neither of them is ready or willing to address. Seth’s eyes are anywhere but on his brother and he can feel Richie’s gaze on himself, the silent scrutiny of it crawling over his skin.

“Start the car.” Richie whispers after what feels like an eternity and Seth does, hands numb, curling around the steering wheel in a tight grip. They climb on the road again, the cool air from the open windows cooling the sweat on Seth’s forehead and neck, filling his nostrils as he shakes his head as if to clear his vision.

“You okay?”

Seth swallows thickly, nods even though he is not so sure about the answer to that particular question. He doesn’t feel okay. He can’t seem to remember the last time he’s felt okay.

They drive for a mile or less in silence before Richie carefully reaches out and takes a hold of his hand, drags it away from the steering wheel to let it rest between them, on his thigh. He threads his long slender fingers through Seth’s rough, calloused ones, fits them together like puzzle pieces, drags the blunt nails of his free hand against the back of Seth’s in tiny, shallow lines and Seth sighs, quiet and low, limbs suddenly growing loose as he slumps in his seat.

They drive like this for hours. Seth never lets go, holds at his brother’s hand firmly while Richie draws phantom circles over his knuckles with his thumb, gaze trained somewhere in the distance, looking at something Seth cannot see.

“We are gonna be okay.” Seth breathes out, the words barely audible, more to himself than to his brother and Richie hums, soft and low in his throat.

They drive like this for hours, until the golden afternoon sunlight bruises into purple, the thin, barely there clouds growing thicker, jagged around the edges. The soft purple bleeds into dusk, sticky and inky and so cool compared to the sucking heat from the day. Seth watches the clouds melt into the growing darkness, twilight cresting just over the horizon only to plunge into a black night.

His hand gives a short squeeze to Richie’s and his brother’s delicate fingers tighten around his in response. It feels like a promise, it feels solid and real and safe. It feels like having back something he has lost, something that has been denied to him for five years.

It feels like home. And for Seth home has never been a house, a town or a place. Home is the warmth he feels at the pit of his stomach whenever Richie smiles at him. Home is his brother’s soft laughter and the calm that floods him when their foreheads touch together, when Richie breathes his air and leans against him, soft and close and trusting. Home is clutched in Seth’s right hand at this very moment, rests between his fingers, clutches back at him with the same longing and urgency that he can feel burning in his own gut.

The moon rises slowly, a silver glint of light on broken glass, a solitary beacon in an ocean of shadows and shifting blackness.

“We are gonna be okay, buddy. “


	2. Chapter 2

They stop at a motel at about 2 in the morning. The old lady at the reception doesn’t even spare Seth a second glance before taking cash for a night’s stay and throws the keys on the counter.

“Room 23.”

“Got any food? Room service?”

“Does this look like the Ritz to you?”

Seth doesn’t even fight the urge to roll his eyes before grabbing the keys from the counter and making his way to the parking lot. They need rest, some sleep in an actual bed, and food, Seth has to get some food into his brother. The job has consumed them so fully that they haven’t had a blink of decent sleep for days now, the constant driving in order to ditch the heat at their backs leaving them without a bite of food for two days straight. Richie looks so pale when Seth leads him to the motel bed that he has second thoughts about leaving him alone. That gunshot wound needs to be tended to, it needs a thorough clean up and stitching up and Seth does not have the needed supplies for it.

“Hey buddy, how you feeling?” His fingers thread through Richie’s hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp and Richie sighs, eyes fluttering closed. “I’ll get you something for the pain, too. I promise.”

Richie is lying on his side in the huge bed, glasses on the night stand and face half buried in the pillow. Seth has helped him take off his jacket and given a quick check to his shoulder again. The wound isn’t bleeding as much anymore and Seth isn’t sure that this is a good sign.

“Seth?”

“Yeah, buddy" 

“I’m hungry.” A tiny smile twitches at the corner of Seth’s mouth as he smooths his thumb over his baby brother’s brow. That is definitely a good sign. Right?

“Gonna get you a burger as big as your head.” Richie hums and leans against his hand catlike and sleepy, and Seth brushes his knuckles against his cheek, before leaning down to press their foreheads together. Richie’s been so quiet recently and it slowly but surely starts to make Seth nervous. He is afraid to leave him alone, weak as a kitten, wounded and exhausted, but right now he doesn’t have much of a choice. 

“You still with me, Richie?” Richie nods, hums again as Seth cups his face, thumbs stroking against his cheekbones. Richie is suddenly a child in his hands again, trusting and soft and needy, just like when they were little, when they did not fight and snap and shout at each other, just like when they were like glued to each other and faced everything together, hand in hand. Richie needs him now, leans into his every touch and Seth would have delighted in it if the calm and serenity of it were not brought by his brother being in pain and in danger of bleeding out on the cheap motel sheets.

“Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t be long, buddy.” Seth soothes, as he tucks a blanket around Richie’s legs. “You take a little nap and I will be back before you know it.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” His lips press against Richie’s forehead before he can contemplate his actions and Richie sighs as he burrows deeper under the covers. Seth can’t seem to keep his hands off him, needs to touch him. As if there is a magnet burrowed somewhere under Richie’s skin, drawing and pulling and tugging Seth forward and he doesn’t know what to make of it, cannot seem to find the will, the strength to keep his distance. Richie is seemingly unaware of it, or simply chooses not to address it as he soaks up the attention, makes those little sounds at the back of his throat that have Seth’s mouth feel dry and his fingers tingle.

His lips linger over Richie’s forehead, breath hot against the clammy skin, and Richie groans quietly, fists his shaky hands in Seth’s jacket, tries to pull him closer.

“Seth-“

Richie feels hot under his lips, too hot as Seth’s mouth brushes against his brow, rests against his temple as his fingers thread through his brother’s hair again.

“Richard…You are hot.” He breathes out as he eventually pulls away, his throat is so dry his tongue seems to be stuck to the roof of his mouth. His fingers curl around Richie’s wrists as he carefully pries his hands away, mindful not to jolt his shoulder too much.

“Thank you. You don’t look bad yourself.”

“You are having a fever, Richie. “

“I don’t. It’s…it comes more like waves. I feel hot and then cold and then hot again-“ He squirms in the bed, lips moist and open against the pillow case and Seth needs to look away, to put some distance between them. He cannot think clearly.

He runs his hands through his hair, presses the heels of his palms to his temples as he lets out a heavy exhale. Seth sits at the foot of the bed, elbows on knees as he closes his eyes for a moment. Richie has a fever. The wound might be infected already for all Seth knows. They have waited too fucking long to take care of this. Seth should have seen it coming, but neither of them has wanted to take the risk of stopping when they had the cops hot on their heels. He needs a pharmacy. A pharmacy or a drug store and he needs to clean and patch Richie up with no further delay or they were never going to make it past the border.

“Fuck…“

“Seth?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I have sweet potato fries?” Richie turns in the bed and Seth can feel his socked feet against the small of his back. He rubs at his face again, stays with his eyes closed for a moment, tries to take a minute to steady himself before fishing the car keys out of his pocket and standing up. He tucks Richie in carefully with the blanket again, before crouching by the bed so he can meet his eyes.

“Want some ice cream, too, buddy?”

He has hard time keeping his nerves in check and it costs him immense efforts to keep his calm in front of Richie. A heavy sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach stirring every time he draws away from his brother.

_Don’t leave me._

“Gonna get you mint chocolate chip cookie. Your favorite.”

He tries to keep his voice steady, light even when it sounds hollow to his own ears. His brother doesn’t need to know how shaken Seth still is, how worried he is now when Richie’s barely conscious and having a fever. How desperate Seth is because getting actual medical attention for his brother will mean them getting jailed. How it is his own fucking fault because he did not take down that fucking cop in time-

“Pie… can I have cherry pie instead?”

“Sure, buddy. Anything you want.”

                                                                      ~*~                                         ~*~                                      ~*~

 

He gets antiseptics, syringes, gauze and antibiotics, painkillers, needles and scissors from two different drugstores in order to avoid suspicion, drives like a madman so he can get back to Richie as soon as possible. The food he picks up last - two large burgers, sweet potato fries, two pieces of cherry pie, two cokes and a large bottle of water.The girl at the cash register is all but drooling all over him, and when he follows her eyes he suddenly realizes he’s got no shirt under his jacket. He’d thorn it to shreds to bind Richie’s shoulder.

It takes about 20 seconds for the girl to register that he has spoken before she can actually ring up what he has ordered. Under different circumstances he would have found it funny, he would have even flirted a bit, just for the sport of it, but right now he’s got no time or energy to spare. All his thoughts, his whole being seems to circle back to the cheap motel room, to that huge motel bed where he’s left his baby brother hungry and bleeding and alone.

She gives him directions to the nearest gas station and he leaves with his bags loaded, leaving a generous tip in the tip jar. He leaves the food on the front seat while all medical supplies go at the back as the engine roars to life.

His hand comes against the head rest of the passenger seat next to him when he backs out of the parking lot. There is blood there, a huge dark spot soaked into the upholstery and his eyes seem to zero in to it, vision growing blurry around the edges. Seth can almost smell it, taste the metallic tang of it on the tip of his tongue. Like in the bank, like the moment he has touched his fingers to the tiny puddle pooling under Richie.

Before he can register what is happening there is bile climbing up his throat, hot, sharp, choking him. He stumbles out of the car, leans heavily against the hood, gasps when his stomach and throat construct with a painful dry heave, clench obnoxiously. He cannot even groan, the sound coming out of his throat more like a whimper before he doubles over and eventually vomits the contents of his stomach. It is not much, virtually nothing since they have barely eaten anything the last couple of days. It hurts. His body seizes up, stomach rolling, clenching with violent sickness when all Seth has to give is stomach acid and pain.

“Fuck… “His hands are shaking and there is sweat plastering his jacket to his back when he fights to straighten up again, tremors trailing the length of his arms. His vision is swimming and he clenches his eyes shut, groans hollowly, as his stomach rolls again. Seth crouches next to the car eventually, fists his hands in his hair and struggles to even out his breathing. It does not work. “Get yourself together. Come on…come on-”

He is shaking all over and standing up does not seem to be an option for the moment. His skin is clammy under his own fingers and he is cautious about moving, afraid that any movement will bring a spasm in his stomach again. He doesn’t know how long he stays like this, sitting on the ground, his back to the car, head in his hands. Then there is a hand to his shoulder and Seth jumps, ready to draw his gun from where it is tucked in the belt at his back. His fingers curl around it before he lifts his head only to see a girl crouching before him, forehead scrunched in concern.

“You okay, mister?” For a moment Seth is at a loss for words, he just stares at her, mouth gaping as she gives him a small bottle of water, motions with her head for him to drink. He hesitates only for a second before he drinks deeply, water spilling down his chin and throat as he gulps noisily.

“Tough night?” She looks very young, like a high school girl, pretty and prim with her neat hair and soft sweater. There is a little golden cross hanging from a delicate chain around her throat. A girl like that shouldn’t be within a mile radius of him and the gun suddenly feels like a dead weight pressing against the small of his back. He clears his throat, leans against the car as he stands up. He doesn’t have time for this.

“Had better ones.” He whispers and she nods, gives a small smile as she straightens up, too. Her eyes are large and light, like Richie’s, but hers are green not blue. There is this quiet intensity in her gaze, like she can see deeper, look below the surface of him, where everything is dark and ugly and broken. It makes him uneasy, anxious when he already feels exposed enough, bare as a raw nerve. Seth releases he is starting and he shakes his head, takes a sip from the bottle, before closing his eyes. He really needs to take a hold of himself.Nearly having a panic attack at a parking lot, and now wasting precious time with strangers when Richie has been waiting for him for more than two hours now.

“Need help?”

“Think I am fine on my own.” He climbs in the car again and she just stands there, looking mildly hurt yet still smiling that small, soft smile that has his chest feeling lighter somehow, yet strangely hollow, like there should be something else where he finds only darkness and turmoil.

“You know, He never gives us more than we can handle. “ She whispers softly as she moves closer, dangles a small wooden cross from her fingers. Seth frowns initially, almost asking who is the _he_ she is talking about before she gives him the cross, patiently waits for him to take it and to his own astonishment he does. “He probably thinks you are a badass.”

“I look that bad?”

“You just puked your insides out next to your car and you got no shirt under your jacket? Not to mention you look like you haven't slept in weeks. I’d say it looks like you’ve had a hard time.”

He chuckles, squeezes the cross in his palm, feels its edges dig into his skin.

“You don’t sell bibles or something, do you?”

“No.”

“Good. You look smarter than that.”

She gives that small laugh and Seth finds himself smiling as he starts the car. He drinks what’s left in the plastic bottle, before throwing it at the back seat. The cross he puts in his pocket.

“Thanks.” He says and she nods, moves away as he pulls out of the parking lot. He can see her in the rearview mirror, still standing there, watching as he drives away. She gets smaller and smaller the farther he gets and he drives on until she is gone and behind him it is only darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big THANK YOU to everybody who stopped by and read my story. Thank you for the kudos and the comments. They are much appreciated.
> 
> Back with the second chapter. It might all look a little chopped up but what I have in mind is more like snippets and chosen moments and not a full fleshed out chaptered story. Let me know if you need clarification for anything I'd love to get into a Geckocest discussion with anyone. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy reading the chapter even though there is not much happening. As always comments and constructive criticism are much appreciated. 
> 
> Thank you :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for stopping by and reading.
> 
> Any comments and constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated. :)


End file.
